Batman is Not a Satanist
by CampionSayn
Summary: Defending the Dark Knight's honor from internet trolls is not something Ghoul should have been doing with a fever, but at least it got him out of his prison of a room. A 'Bad Boys Don't Need Friends' one-shot. Terry/Ghoul BroTP.


Title: Batman is not a Satanist  
Summary: Defending the Dark Knight's honor from internet trolls is not something Ghoul should have been doing with a fever, but at least it got him out of his prison of a room. A 'Bad Boys Don't Need Friends' one-shot. Terry/Ghoul BroTP.  
Warning: Swearing, mention of body fluids, ubber fluff… Yes, that's right; there is fluff after the first two warnings.  
Dedication: This is based on and attached to a fic by **Kirra** **kills** (_'Bad Boys Don't Need Friends'_) with chapters filled with Ghoul after he's been sequestered back in with his parents and with Terry trying to see if they could be friends, so this rightfully goes to her. This is also based on a conversation we had recently about Stephen King being a sweet-heart and not many other things people assume he must be for writing such works of the macabre. (Don't worry, Mister King, we still love you as a person.)

* * *

_-:-  
Dear Collector: We hate you.  
-Anais Nin._

* * *

"Why are people so stupid?

"How long have you been in that position? I hope you're aware that you look far worse than usual and I recall a time when you had grey skin… Hello?"

"Seriously, Batman is not a Satanist," Ghoul snuffed, the mucus in the back of his throat burning a little as it slid down his throat with the effort and effect of a slug covered with thorns; he ran the underside of his wrist along the contours of his nostrils and didn't seem to acknowledge the disgusted look Terry gave him when a clear sheen spread along Ghoul's ratty black shirt—that, or like most things, just didn't care about Terry's opinion, "A Satanist is just an Atheist with situational aggression and delusional expectations. Like, fucking," he paused again to blink at the blue of his computer frame as Terry lightly pressed a finger to the rich blonde's forehead and then drew back, wiping the appendage against his pants as though he would be infected with the virus that had killed a large portion of Europe and rotted the corpses with black puss and frothing at the mouth, "Lawrence of Arabia. They're all just exhibitionists on the dark side."

Terry started bumbling around the room, looking for a heavy jacket he had seen Ghoul in, that would keep the slight chill outside the large building at bay when the brunette dragged Ghoul out of the confines of his room that had obviously been rather detrimental to Ghoul's health. Terry didn't know how Ghoul had gotten so sick in the last twenty-four hours since they'd seen each other, but it was certainly not in the goth's best interest for Terry to leave him to stew in his own agony by just turning on his heel (_what was the old phrase? Like Michael Jackson's backward dance, or something_) and ignoring the problem.

As it stood, it appeared that nobody had noticed Ghoul had missed breakfast and lunch, or bothered to see that the teen's eyes were bloodshot and skin hot to the touch (_Ghoul's parents were not unknown to be downright negligent, but it really irritated Terry that the staff hadn't been bothered to at least knock on the door, pop in and remove Ghoul's head as it had been pressed to his computer keyboards; Terry could see those checkerboard shuffle marks on one pale cheek that would remain until blood flow regulated back in the guy's jaw_,) so Terry would be the responsible one in this situation. He supposed, since his mom and Matt were out of town on some school thing for Matt's class, it wouldn't hurt to bring Ghoul on his own little field trip where he could be exposed to Vitamin D in the form of sunshine and Vitamin C in the form of whatever orange oriented thing Terry could stuff into Ghoul's mouth before he snapped out of whatever nattering he was in the middle of and bit surprisingly unpleasant, hard, teeth into Terry's bony fingers.

It wouldn't be pretty getting Ghoul out of his slumped position and into a coat, let alone out to the car Terry had been allowed to borrow from Bruce, but he assumed he'd earn some points by taking care of someone that was becoming a vested interest in his professional and personal life.

Finding Ghoul's large black coat behind what passed for ultra-luxury, Egyptian cotton bed covers (_Egyptian love, also known as necrophilia; the area of sexual relationships that were prompted when confronted with dead man, woman or child—Terry couldn't believe that he actually remembered that from some of the anthropology courses in school Bruce had made him enroll in as extra credit for the semester,) _the Batman tried to pay as little attention as possible to the internet forum thread Ghoul had been on before obviously slipping into exhausted ramblings (_**Superhero Conversations: Batman, Good Guy or Bad Guy or Something More**_).

"Absolutely ridiculous," Ghoul sniffed, allowing Terry to raise his arms to fit the large coat over his thin shoulders and fit the wiry limbs into the sleeves.

* * *

The assortment of flowers that Matt had picked for their mother that had been on the kitchen counter for the last week, trapped in a vase made entirely of a plastic soda cup, were drooping and—if Terry was honest—quite ugly to look at, but to his quiet astonishment, Ghoul seemed to like them.

At least, Terry was pretty sure that he liked them, considering that since Terry had set the emaciated teen on the sofa and tucked him into an old blanket (_one of the lot that his mother kept penned up in one of the broom closets in stacks of patterns that would look perfect in a country home somewhere in a corn producing town with real seasons and hayrides all year long, but in Gotham just looked so very __**bad**_) with timid pink coloring and little prints along the bottom right corner of a family of Spotbill ducks, Ghoul's eyes hadn't moved from the weird arrangement of purple bulbs mixed in with daisy blooms that obviously hadn't been ripe before Matt had plucked him since the petals had a sick green color.

"So, are you comfortable right here or should I move you to my room, or…"

Ghoul snuffed again (_not a very pleasant sound after he had done so three blocks from where Terry had parked the car and it had caused him to sway backwards and almost into a darkly blotched pile of snow that only Terry seemed to be aware hid a pointy headed fire hydrant; the only reason he hadn't fallen was because Terry had his reflexes and, after dealing with Blight, had started to get used to tolerating toxic things—sick people or radiation treated villains made little difference to him_) and blinked out of looking at the hideous flower arrangement. He barely seemed to acknowledge that he was no longer in his room—let alone his house—with anything more than his eyes becoming a scintilla clearer and answering Terry simply, "I can easily be comfortable on a couch with _floral prints _on the arms when I used to get comfy in rat infested squat houses. I can't promise that I won't accidently ruin it when I vomit later, though."

Terry rolled his eyes and turned towards the kitchen to make some chicken soup on the stove and fish those gummy vitamins out of the cabinet his mother kept stock of for Matt since the little twip was still in grade school and therefore was basically an open organism in a petree dish of potential common diseases that commonly went by the badass title of 'The Rhino Virus' in the winter season, "Charming. I guess I should just be happy that you've stopped gibbering like a loony about the Devil and Batman."

"Satanists and Pointy Ears _not_ being one," Ghoul corrected, carelessly leaning sideways so his head rested on one of the fat throw-pillows and made the covers envelope him completely; one of his hands picking and rubbing against the checkerboard marks on his face for about the billionth time since Terry had snuck him out of his house while keeping him on his own two feet and unnoticed by his butlers and maids and… his parents didn't count since they were probably drinking Scotch coffee at some ski resort while their son was trying not to puke his guts out on Terry's overcoat, "Not that I really care if the moronic fleet of internet trolls really believes such ridiculous nonsense, but I kind of got sucked in by this asshole that lost all validity to his thread when he kept bringing up the suit and then some secondary asshole kept backing the guy up and…"

He paused a moment when his stomach turned in on itself and he held both hands to his mouth to keep it closed.

Ghoul heard the sounds of the cupboards presumably under the sink bang open and closed and then, like some fairy of goodwill that helped little old ladies cross the street and made sure that the cookies left for Santa by little children had been nibbled believably and the milk also drained for good measure, Terry set a rust bottomed bucket before the foot of the sofa where Ghoul's head was still resting. He stood back up and backed away like Ghoul was a ticking bomb but his eyes softened when Ghoul swallowed once, twice, and then let go of his own mouth.

"Ah, okay, let's get you some water. At least if you have something wet in your gut whatever comes up and out will be a little smoother."

"Thanks for your concern," the call back was sarcastic, but with far less bite than it had at full capacity that Terry made no mention of as he turned up the heat so the soup would come to a boil after being on far too low a setting and took a glass from the cupboards (_a present Matt had gotten their mom on her last birthday that bore the striking resemblance to a panda's head, a little nick in the groove of the cup that was the bear's left ear, but still cute a perfectly functional after their mom had fixed it_) to fill with medium chilled water. He dropped a little orange flavored, dissolving vitamin into the drink and then stepped back over to the sick computer expert.

The sight of Ghoul glaring at the drink was almost picturesque. It would have been worth painting and putting up on a wall. Like art school sketches Italians did when learning the basics, but Terry wasn't cruel enough to say something like that out loud and to the guy's face, so he settled for easing him out of his (their mutual) discomfort; he brought up what Ghoul had been doing on his computer and stirred the soup, paying attention to keep the broth from sticking to the metal of the skillet pot for too long.

"So, what were you doing on a super hero chat-site?"

"Trolling the trolls and enlightening the stupid sheep who follow blindly," Ghoul sighed, downing the drink in one swallow that definitely wasn't good for him, but Terry wouldn't preach like some mother hen—Ghoul would be punished enough when the drink came back up later. Whether or not he vomited was not a question of 'if' but 'when' and Terry stirred the soup some more, quietly hoping that the apartment still had that deodorizer in the drawer in the bathroom that smelled of French Vanilla. The smell of vomit, like sex, always seemed to linger and Terry did not want a reminder that he had voluntarily brought the blonde to the apartment he lived in.

"This is a hobby?"

Ghoul shrugged, pitching the blanket around him in circles and positioning the bucket at his feet so it was in the optimal position the next time he felt burning at the back of his throat and bile creeping up to his tonsils. He pressed at his cheek with the keyboard marks again before settling and winding his fingers into his hair, grabbing one of the thinner tresses and winding it around the rest of the long yellow lengths in a self-made ponytail. He did not want all of his stomach fluids getting stuck on him, drying into crusts and taking forever to get out the next day.

"Yeah, better than those reality sites of trains derailing and fucking up unbelievably or moron athletes tripping over themselves. On occasion, if I manage figure out where the trolls live and make their lives a living hell, that's a real bonus."

Terry gave Ghoul a cringing nod and put the soup into a large bowl. The stove almost burned his knuckles but he ignored it for the thought that traversed his head after Ghoul finished his statement, '_Well, at least he's not screwing over people that __**don't**__ deserve it, I guess._'


End file.
